


Death and the Maiden

by pengiesama



Category: Tales of Berseria, Tales of Zestiria
Genre: (the answer is yes because it's Greek myth and stuff), Alternate Universe - Greek Mythology, Ancient Technology, Hades & Persephone au, M/M, Sorey is gay and weirdass nerd boy just like in canon so is this REALLY an AU, Tales of Berseria Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-23
Updated: 2018-06-23
Packaged: 2019-05-27 13:59:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15026156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pengiesama/pseuds/pengiesama
Summary: Mikleo meets the God of Death in his garden, gets not-really-kidnapped, and things get a bit more complicated from there.(The fruit of the underworld is very tempting indeed.)





	Death and the Maiden

**Author's Note:**

> I've always been of the opinion that every fandom needs a super self-indulgent Hades & Persephone AU. Please do accept my meager offering.
> 
> This was spawned while chatting with Nami (croixsouillees) and Ali (spirithorse)! <333

\--

 

“It’s rude for a guest to not announce themselves to their host,” Mikleo said aloud, not looking up from his book. “And also rude to eavesdrop.”

After a long moment of silence and stillness, Mikleo’s erstwhile-hidden guest and audience sheepishly presented himself. The splendid colors of Mikleo’s garden blazed loud around him, their petals brushing his dark robes and dusky skin as he stepped forward. He bowed; unable to quite meet Mikleo’s expectant gaze, but nonetheless unable to help himself from sneaking quick peeks up at him.

“I’m sorry. I just...”

Mikleo leaned his head on his hand, and arranged himself more comfortably on the divan in the gazebo where he lounged. The gazebo was woven by hand by his mother’s nymphs; its study white wood braided with flowering vines that drooped low, curtaining the inside of the gazebo from the sun and heat with colorful sprays of blooms. It was as beautiful as it was functional in keeping the midday sun from addling one’s brains. His guest seemed to require its use in this respect. He continued to hem and haw at the gazebo’s entrance, even with the spot next to Mikleo on the divan so obviously free.

“Have I been slacking too much on my gardening, for you to come calling?” Mikleo wondered aloud. “I suppose it serves me right for trying to experiment too much with irrigation technology.”

His guest hadn’t introduced himself, for he needed no introduction. Every creature, mortal or not, was quite familiar with him. The God of Death, Sorey. Lord of the underworld, and quite far from home today, here on the holy mountain where the rest of the gods resided. He had the youthful complexion and the strong shoulders and stance of a young man and eyes as green as the most lush specimens in Mikleo’s garden. Their verdant color was entirely captivating, and Mikleo found himself disappointed that Sorey still refused to meet his gaze.

“Nothing like that. Your garden is...beautiful, and thriving. I have no quarry with it.”

“Then what is your pursuit today, Lord Death? I can’t imagine you came all the way up here for a stroll.”

Sorey was silent. After a moment to gather his thoughts, he confirmed Mikleo’s observation.

“No. I didn’t.”

...though Mikleo remained wanting for more information. He sighed, and patted the spot next to him on the divan to make a more deliberate offer of it.

“Come up here and get out of the sun,” Mikleo said. “I know you’re not used to it.”

Sorey stiffened at the offer, but swallowed and nodded. He slowly approached the gazebo, and settled next to Mikleo with a dazed look on his face, as if he was in a waking dream. Mikleo was getting a bit worried – what kind of scandal would there be if the God of Death went into a swooning fit from heatstroke while under his hospitality? (Never mind the scandal of why Sorey was even here in the first place, in Mikleo’s locked, guarded, private quarters.) He didn’t even want to think about what kind of havoc the mortal realm would be thrown into.

There was a fountain of fresh river water that spilled over the edge of one gazebo wall, feeding a basin of water. Mikleo rose to his feet to fetch a soft towel, dampened it with the cool water, and brought it over to Sorey to gently wipe down his face and neck.

“The aqueducts you helped the mortals engineer are magnificent. They’re—they’re really something. They’re...” Sorey was beginning to babble as Mikleo tended to him. “They – the people’s crops are flourishing, and even the busiest cities and most remote towns have fresh clean water, and – and they’re beautifully designed, the stonework and carvings are so stunning...”

Mikleo felt his ears glowing red, and stood up stiffly to go squeeze out the towel. “It’s hardly my work. I was only helping them with the blueprints my uncle designed. My uncle supplied the vision, and the humans supplied the manpower.”

He wet the towel again, and turned to see Sorey attempting to struggle to his feet. He huffed and hurried over to ease him back down before he hurt himself. Sorey wouldn’t stop staring at him; a dizzy, dazzled, dopey look that made Mikleo want to throw the wet towel in his face, run out of the gazebo into the hot noon sun, and turn himself into a fruit-bearing tree. (Or perhaps a stream. He could never stay in one place for long.)

“They’re amazing,” Sorey murmured. “You’re amazing. You and the mortals. I had to come up to see the one who they were worshipping, the one who put all of it into motion, and...you’re just...”

Sorey was clearly still suffering from the sun’s rays, and needed to lie down. Mikleo’s lap was free, and...and Sorey’s eyes were very, very green.

Mikleo gently guided Sorey to lie down on the divan, and settled his head in his lap, bunching up his robes to make a more comfortable pillow. The look on Sorey’s face grew all the dopier.

Mikleo’s tablet still had a day’s worth of charge on it. He tabbed out of the architectural engineering journals he was reviewing, brought up the 3D blueprints, and held the device in front of Sorey’s face for him to see.

“If you’re that desperate to see what work I put in,” Mikleo said. “There’s a walkthrough you can navigate through on here.”

 

 

\--

 

 

“Lord Mikleo!”

Mikleo’s eyes flew open at the sound of his name, and disengaged his lips from Sorey’s long enough to cast a frantic, panicked look around them. The guards’ footsteps and calls of his name were drawing closer. Sorey moaned in need, and tried to guide Mikleo back down with one big hand on the nape of his neck.

“My guards are coming, they’ll see— _mmh_ —”

Sorey kissed him deep and wet and desperate, groaning into it, and released Mikleo’s gasping mouth only to trace kisses down his throat. Mikleo’s robes were rucked up around his thighs, and Sorey’s other hand was roaming along his exposed skin; edging on the border of indecent. Mikleo almost lost himself to the feeling of Sorey’s lips on his collarbone, to his fingers roaming where his robes were yanked open at the chest, but his reverie was broken again.

“Lord Mikleo, your mother requests your presence at the temple!”

“Sorey,” Mikleo tried to admonish, but it came out more like a moan. “You...you need to go...”

The guards were closing in on them. They’d see them the moment they were in sight of the gazebo. Mikleo shoved Sorey’s face back and pulled his robes into place – or made a valiant effort at it – and tugged Sorey to his feet.

“Follow me, and be quick about it,” Mikleo said. “I’ll lead you to a spot where you can make your escape.”

“I cannot bear another moment without you at my side,” Sorey sighed; that dopey look still plastered on his face. He grabbed both of Mikleo’s hands, and kissed each fingertip, one by one. “I am your prisoner here, do with me as you will. Your eyes are like amethysts, I am stuck dumb by the sight of it, I wish only to worship at your feet, on this, the blessed day of our meet—”

Mikleo was baffled and vexed enough by Sorey’s (terrible) impromptu poetry slam long enough for him to not notice the guards’ approach. He heard them gasp, and spun in shock.

“L-lord Mikleo!”

Mikleo’s mother was loving, but quite overprotective of her precious only child. If she caught wind of Mikleo having guests – specifically, handsome male guests that he was entertaining alone in his cozy little garden reading nook – she surely would never allow him out of the temple unescorted again. The thought of never getting to be with Sorey again struck Mikleo with a keen despair, and panic overrode his common sense. He took Sorey by the wrist and set off running; out of the gazebo and into the shaded garden paths. Mikleo heard the guards shout after him, and their feet raced in pursuit.

“Where are we going?” Sorey called to him.

“I don’t know,” Mikleo replied in a panic. “I don’t know, I don’t know. If they catch us, my mother will never let me see you again, I just know it—”

Sorey’s hand squeezed his own tightly, and suddenly, Sorey skidded to a halt, dragging Mikleo in tight to his chest. Mikleo’s heart raced, and he stared up at Sorey in wild-eyed confusion. The guards were closing in; what was he doing?

Sorey cupped Mikleo’s cheek, tilting his chin up for a kiss. Mikleo felt his body rise to meet Sorey’s mouth – his whole body, indeed, seemed light and pliant in Sorey’s arms. Darkness swirled around them like a comforting blanket, and just as easily as Mikleo felt himself rise up, he felt himself sinking; sinking low, as if into the embrace of the night and sleep. The guards’ voices, the light and sounds and scents of his garden, seemed to be slipping farther and farther away.

Mikleo’s eyes searched Sorey’s, and after a moment, he let his eyelids slip shut, and gave himself fully to Sorey’s embrace.

 

 

\--

 

 

Groggily, Mikleo searched through Sorey’s nightstand for a phone charger. Honestly, how did a god of such a solemn aspect of existence let his room get this messy?

Mikleo looked over his shoulder at said god, and couldn’t help the warmth that flooded his heart at the sight of Sorey sleeping so peacefully next to him. As Mikleo moved away to continue his search – and maybe get out of bed for a bit to stretch and try organizing this mess – Sorey whined in his sleep and scooted in close; tucking his cheek to the small of Mikleo’s back, and coiling Mikleo’s legs with one strong arm. Mikleo’s whole body ached. His back was sore, his thighs wouldn’t stop twitching, the bruises rainbowed over his skin throbbed deliciously when Mikleo moved. Still, he supposed he could remain in this questionably-comfortable position for a bit, if it helped Sorey get some rest. Surely he was exhausted as well, no matter how inexhaustible his stamina seemed only a few hours ago.

...was it only a few hours ago, that Sorey was straining over him? It was difficult to judge the flow of time in Sorey’s realm, with no sun, no stars. Seconds seemed hours and hours seemed minutes. Sorey’s chambers and the surrounding temple – from the brief glimpses Mikleo had seen of it when Sorey had first spirited him here, before Sorey had all but carried him to his personal rooms – were lit by gentle candlelight, but the realm itself was illuminated by a natural system of bioluminescent moss in an array of neon, glowing colors. It gave the place an air of a bustling metropolitan city at night. It was so unlike his previous assumptions about the underworld, and Mikleo was suitably ashamed of himself for it.

Sorey, himself, was so unlike anything he ever expected. For a god of death, he clearly loved life and held it dearer to him than anything else. He was also just as fascinated as Mikleo was with mortals. His room was filled with books from the mortal realm; books about history, about culture, about food and comedy and tragedy. During the periods of respite between their adventures between the sheets, they excitedly traded stories of their travels around the earthly realm, Sorey told tales about his encounters with centuries-dead philosophers and historians. They even had a few spirited debates on their respective tastes in literature. (Or lack of taste, in Sorey’s case.) Mikleo had only known him for a short time, but the easy way they interacted, the easy way Sorey’s hand found his own in the afterglow...it seemed as though they’d known each other for an age or more. Maybe it was the effect Sorey’s realm had on things, but Mikleo was not particularly up to fighting against it.

Mikleo finally spotted a charger among the papers and books on the floor next to the bed, and snatched it up with some effort; trying not to jostle Sorey. His phone had been dead for a while now, and he thought it was probably best to get it back up and running, and check in with his family.

Mikleo popped the charger in, started his phone, and watched with wide eyes as he saw the notifications pour in.

846 missed calls. Double that in texts, from everyone from his mother, to his uncle, to his godmothers Lailah and Edna. (Even one from Eizen, who didn’t really Get phones, and broke them too often besides.) Emails and notifications from every social app. Notifications from his favorite games that they hadn’t seen him in two weeks, and if he came back soon, he’d earn a complimentary gem package...

...two weeks. Two weeks?

Mikleo felt the press of Sorey’s lips against his spine, climbing upward, until Sorey pressed one final kiss to the nape of his neck and settled his chin on Mikleo’s shoulder.

“Morning,” Sorey’s sleep-rough voice murmured, and he yawned, letting out a cute little squeak in the process. “Are you hungry, love? You haven’t eaten since—”

“Two weeks,” Mikleo croaked.

Sorey blinked, and peeped at Mikleo’s screen. Mikleo was staring at the news on his phone, scrolling through articles chronicling the ongoing case of his own kidnapping (“kidnapping”? No, no, that wasn’t right), and the chaos in the world above. His mother was an earth goddess, one who managed the matter of the harvest. She had descended from the heavenly mountain to search for him, and the earthly world was suffering deeply without her attention. If this kept up, the mortals would surely endure terrible hardship.

Sorey’s arms were no longer around his waist. Mikleo keenly felt their absence. Sorey had retreated to a corner of the bed, and stared down at his hands; a heartbroken, mournful expression on his face.

“I...I’m so sorry,” Sorey said. “We don’t get much in the way of news, down here; not quickly.”

“Sorey.” Mikleo crawled to him. Sorey almost moved away, but allowed Mikleo to draw him into an embrace; burying his nose against Mikleo’s neck. “You didn’t know. And it’s not your fault. You didn’t kidnap me, no matter what they say.”

Sorey took a shaky breath, and let it out, tickling Mikleo’s skin. “The humans are suffering without you and your mother. You have to go back before it’s too late.”

If only it was that easy. The moment he set foot in the earthly realm, he’d surely be detected by someone, and a small army of well-meaning meddlers would rush in to tear him away from Sorey, and chase Sorey back down into the underworld. His mother would never let him out of her sight again.

He’d never have this – Sorey in his arms, books strewn about them, the wan light of glowing moss illuminating the walls – ever again.

“I won’t let you be alone, not anymore,” Mikleo whispered into Sorey’s hair. “I’ll talk to someone. Someone who can help us.”

 

 

\--

 

 

_Before I tell you anything I need you to promise you won’t freak out, or tell mom._

_Where are you. Are you okay? Did you kill someone?_

_I’m fine. And no. Why did you jump to that conclusion??_

_I don’t know Mikleo I’m just trying to put myself into a mindset of why I would disappear for two weeks without telling anyone_

_I’m sorry, I just lost track of time_

_oh ok_

It was very difficult for Mikleo to tell when his Uncle Michael was being sarcastic or serious even in-person, and over text it was nearly impossible. Michael could legitimately consider “losing track of time” an excuse for disappearing for weeks on end, as he’d done the same himself many times. If he wasn’t the god of travelers, it would be probably be much more inconvenient. Mikleo grit his teeth and continued on.

_Promise you won’t tell mom, or anyone, or else I’m going to stop responding._

_fine. I swear I won’t_

So, Mikleo told him everything. About meeting Sorey, about running from his own guards, about...losing track of time in the underworld (Mikleo left out the details here). He emphasized that Sorey was not a kidnapper, and that Mikleo was not about to make a reappearance until Sorey’s safety was assured.

Michael was silent for a few minutes. Mikleo gave him time to process the information.

_Please, uncle, I need your help. I miss you and mom and I don’t want the humans to suffer any more_

_I’m going to need to try and get Mao to mediate. Can I tell him?_

Mikleo sighed in relief. Maotelus was the king of the gods, and had an odd friendship with Michael – surely, if Michael could explain Mikleo’s case to him, Maotelus could do...something to quell his mother’s wrath on the world. If Maotelus couldn’t manage it, then...

It was the fate of the earthly realm weighed against dooming Sorey to another eternity of loneliness.

...they would cross that bridge when they got to it. Mikleo stroked his fingers along Sorey’s jawline, and leaned in for a kiss.

 

 

\--

 

 

“Mikleo,” Maotelus said. “Welcome back.”

Maotelus nodded to Sorey.

“And Sorey, it’s been too long. It’s good to see you. I trust you treated your guest well?”

Sorey nodded urgently. “Of course. It’s good to see you too, Mao.”

“Objection! The judge clearly has a pre-existing relationship with the defendant!” bellowed the miniature god of justice, Phoenix.

“It would be stranger for me to not know the other gods, much less one as important as Sorey,” Maotelus replied calmly. “And please, Phoenix, enough with the accusations. This is a civil discussion, not a trial.”

Phoenix huffed and tapped his files on the table in front of him, grumbling to himself.

“It should well be a trial,” Mikleo’s mother Muse said, tersely. “There’s nothing civil about what happened. The God of Death abandoned his realm to trespass into my temple grounds, and stole away my son from his private study—”

“Mother,” Mikleo interrupted. “I’ve told you a thousand times now that’s not what happened.”

“Oh? Then did he not set foot upon my land without my permission?” Muse argued back. “Did he not evade the guards like a common thief? Did he not break the seals upon your garden to prevent them from sounding the alarm? His intention was clear, no matter what you think you did willingly. He was planning on stealing you away from the start, by force or coercion, or sweet false words!”

“So what?” Mikleo spat. “A vendetta against Sorey breaking in and stepping on your tulips means that you get to abandon your duty to the humans to go chase after him? How many crops have died? How many living things have suffered!?”

A murmur went up amongst the crowd at the increasingly heated debate. Maotelus desperately tried to calm things, but silence finally fell when his aunt and self-designated enforcer stepped up to levy her death glare at the gathered gods. Velvet was the leader of the Erinyes, and was not to be trifled with.

Sorey broke the awful silence with a quiet, mournful apology.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know I stepped on your tulips.”

Mikleo’s heart ached with fondness. Sorey was too far away, now, for him to touch his face, to reassure him that no trodding-upon had really occurred.

“It’s heavenly law that those entering the underworld may never leave,” said Maotelus. “Especially those that have partaken of its food and drink. Mikleo, did you indulge in anything while you were with Sorey? Wine, meat, bread – even the smallest of seeds would bind you to the nether realm.”

Mikleo thought a moment. A long, long moment. His cheeks began to burn red.

“...seed?” he said meekly.

Maotelus blinked slowly. “...yes, a seed. Source of life, essence of earthly vitality...”

“Um,” Mikleo said. “Something like that.”

Mikleo stared down at his feet, trying to not burst into flames on the spot with the way the crowd was snickering, the way Maotelus’ brow was furrowed in confusion, the way Velvet was glaring daggers at him; her hands clasped over Maotelus’ ears.

“In any case,” Maotelus said, swatting Velvet’s hands off of him somewhat unsuccessfully. He resigned himself to having his face spit-shined with her hankie when she spied a spot upon it. “In any case. Since you partook of underworld nourishment, by our laws, you now belong to Sorey and his realm.”

The crowd began to gossip excitedly again, and Mikleo felt his heart skip with relief just as he felt it twist with pain. He cast a side-look at his mother, who was weeping for her lost child; at his uncle, who was comforting his grieving sister, at his godmothers, who could not bring themselves to look his way. He looked at Sorey, who gazed at him with such wretched longing etched clearly on his face. Sorey closed his eyes, and his shoulders shook briefly before he reined himself in.

“I cannot accept the cruelty of this law,” Sorey said. “I will not take Mikleo into my realm.”

More murmuring from the crowd.

“If we let you pick and choose who went to your realm, I think we’d find that you’d never take anyone,” said Maotelus. “It’s unfortunately not up to you, Sorey.”

Sorey’s jaw went tense, and his eyes took on a look of determination. “I will meet you partway.”

Maotelus raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Do tell, God of Death. When do you ever leave things half-done?”

“Never. But I do not lack mercy,” said Sorey. “Mikleo will spend half the year in my custody, and half the year in the earthly realm. Does this satisfy the heavenly scales of justice?”

Lailah guffawed from the crowd, and draped herself bodily over Edna. “Scales!” she wheezed. “Heavenly scales! Because Maotelus – dragon –”

She was not able to continue further, and Mikleo was fairly surprised if she was even able to breathe. Edna shoved her off irritably and she collapsed to the ground.

Phoenix finished writing with a flourish, and presented the paper to Maotelus to read. “Your Heavenly Grace, the God of Death’s offer satisfies my palate. I have written up a contract for you to review, and for all parties to sign upon your approval.”

“Thank you,” Maotelus said. “Will someone please remove Lailah while I deliberate? Court is in recess.”

Phoenix watched Maotelus wander off into the inner temple, slack-jawed. “...I-I thought you said this wasn’t a trial!” he shouted in despair. “My closing arguments are wasted!”

Mikleo caught Sorey’s eye, and Sorey gave him a tight, sad smile. Mikleo felt his mother’s arms wrap tight around him, and he was drawn into her embrace before he could call his name.

 

 

\--

 

 

Muse had seemed somewhat abashed by her poor form as a goddess, and when Mikleo was returned to her temple, she blessed the mortal realm with sweet weather and bountiful crops. However, when the time began to approach for Mikleo to hold up his end of the agreed-upon bargain, she could not quite control her emotions. The weather began to turn cold, and the trees and plants began to wither. The humans adapted, as they always did; they stored and preserved food for the coming scarcity. The reassurance that the humans would survive, and even that Mikleo would return, did not quite quell the sorrow plain on Muse’s face as she clutched at her son on the day of his departure.

“I’ll be back,” Mikleo assured her. “You know I will. I’ll write and call. Aunt Lailah and Edna will be there to keep you company.”

“Yes,” Muse said quietly. “I know you’ll return to this wretched excuse for a goddess and mother.”

Mikleo sighed heavily. “Mother, stop. The humans are thriving. I am thriving. We’ve had this discussion before, and we can have it again if need be when I return. Okay?”

Muse signed and nodded, and accepted a kiss to her cheek before Mikleo gathered his luggage (heavy with books he was eager to show Sorey) and stepped down to the temple’s main gate. A grand, elegant chariot awaited him, led by a fleet of four beautiful jet-black horses, bedecked in thick silk cloaks intricately embroidered in silver thread. One horse pressed its muzzle to Mikleo’s cheek as he passed, snuffling him and giving him a quick lick.

“Hey now,” said the handsome man holding the reins. “Orphnaeus, that’s my job.”

Mikleo climbed up and settled himself next to Sorey. “I’d prefer to have a real kiss to welcome me back, if you don’t mind.”

Sorey smiled bright, and leaned in to capture Mikleo’s lips in a long, gentle kiss – a movement of lips on his own; chaste enough to stoke the fire in Mikleo’s belly for want of something more. Before Mikleo could pursue it, Sorey drew back, stroking Mikleo’s cheek with an adoring hand.

“Welcome back, Mikleo,” he whispered. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too, Sorey,” Mikleo said, kissing the side of Sorey’s mouth. “Shall we depart?”

Sorey coaxed the horses into motion, and they set off; the warm, comforting shadows beginning to close in around them.

“My grandfather is excited to meet you,” Sorey said eagerly. “He’s mostly retired by now, and hangs around in the fields of Elysia. He said that I have to bring some pomegranate cheesecake from the temple kitchens, which you’ve got to try too, and I’ll have to take you on a tour of the temple library, and have you meet everyone there, and if you like dogs you’ll LOVE Cerbs, he’s such a big boy—”

“Everything but the last bit,” Mikleo quickly interrupted. “Dogs and I don’t get along. But everything else sounds grand.”

The shadows began to clear, and the neon luminescent lights that had haunted Mikleo’s dreams for so long played rainbow patterns along his pale skin. He reached out to touch Sorey’s hand on the reins, and curled his fingers around his wrist. He leaned his head on Sorey’s shoulder, closed his eyes, and let himself be reaped away once more.


End file.
